


A Better Choice

by AiyokuSama



Series: Umbra Verse [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiyokuSama/pseuds/AiyokuSama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What should have happened in Batman 426 - 428 (when Bruce was an ass and Jason found out that Catherine wasn’t his biological mom.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

They’re fucked. They’re both completely off their rockers! Yes, Jason has been going over things in his mind, uncomfortable things about his parents, about how they aren’t alive any more. Sometimes they show up in his nightmares. But he’s fucking dealing with it. It’s not like there’s anything unusual about his grieving. It’s certainly not like he’s a danger out on the street!

Who the hell does Bruce think he is?

It hurts. Bruce doesn’t trust him. That much has been obvious since the shit with Felipe Garzonas went down. The man hasn’t said anything, it’s more what his silence means. He’s never believed Jason’s say-so about how the guy fell because he got spooked by at Robin’s sudden appearance. It’s the fucking truth! Jason had defiantly intended on beating him into...well, into something, for starters. Maybe get creative and make him feel the same kind of terror that caused poor Gloria take her own life. But killing him hadn’t been the plan. You can’t make a dead man suffer.

He hasn’t mentioned any of that. No point. Even he can recognize how petty and vindictive it is. Jason isn’t sorry the guy is dead, but it hadn’t been his intention or his doing. Even so, that’s not why he’s currently benched. Oh no, that one is all because Jason did his fucking job! Bruce hadn’t said shit about waiting for Gordon at the warehouse until Jason was already flying. If he had, Jason would have. He likes the old guy, given that the man has always been decent to him.

It’s not like there hadn’t been time to impart that particular bit of information; he’d been in the car with the man for the 12-minute ride to the warehouse! Yet, it’s apparently all Jason’s fault that the World’s Greatest Detective has the communication skills of a slug. Well, fuck him and his stupid-assed assumptions about grieving. That’s just so retarded. His mom was four years ago now. And his dad hadn’t been around for years before that. Mostly he’s just pissed that Bruce kept the Two-Face information from him. He’s not fucking grieving.

As the teen rails on in his mind, his feet keep moving. At the moment, he doesn’t want to be anywhere near that sanctimonious asshole, who is probably hiding in the cave by now; and no way in hell is he going to stick around upstairs. Moving helps him think and it’s a nice enough afternoon, so outside is just fine. He doesn’t mean to hitchhike, but when a cute blonde pulls over and motions him in, he really isn’t going to turn that down.

His pretty new friend, whose name he can’t recall two minutes later, lets him off at Fifth and Morry, after warning him that it’s a pretty tough neighbourhood. He just smiles and leaves. There’s nothing this city has which worries him at night, let alone in daylight. Once on his way, he keeps moving and barely notices when his feet carry him toward his old building at the south end of Crime Alley.

At that moment, he isn’t really thinking. No. He is, but he’s not paying attention to the thoughts beyond acknowledging the rolling anger that seems to consume all else. And he nurses it. Anger can be a source of power—his mother once told him—of strength. Showing weakness in this town is never a good idea, not when the shadows hide predators. Of course, he knows what else the shadows hide, but not here and not now; maybe not ever again for him.

God damn it! He’d done his fucking job!

Jason is shocked out of his obsessive spiral when a woman hails him from a very familiar building. His building—from a lifetime ago.

“You! You’re young Jason Todd, aren’t you?”

He looks up over his shoulder to see an elderly woman in an impossibly-bright, pink floral muumuu leaning out her second floor window. Something about her tickles his memories. Cautiously he answers, “Yes.”

That causes the woman to smile and reach a hand toward him, gesturing that he should come inside. “Then come up here!” she orders with that jolly smile of hers, as if Jason is the best thing she’s seen in years. “I’ve got some things for you.”

Puzzled, he nods and heads inside. Like most slums in the area, there is no lock on the building door. Whatever security might exist comes from what the tenants themselves furnish. Goddamn property manages won’t even spring for a basic deadbolt. 

In contrast to the bright afternoon outside, the hallways are dark, the light bulbs—those that still w0rk—are dim. Yeah, some things never change. Frowning, he heads up to the second floor, third door from the end, judging by the window she’d been leaning out of. The teen knocks politely before he turns the handle. Though it has three sturdy locks on it, it’s open since he’s expected. Huh. 

“Hello?” he asks, announcing his presence.

“Come in! Come in!” is the immediate, surprisingly jubilant reply.

Jason slips in and closes the door behind him before turning to face the rather rotund woman. It’s the smile. Something about the... “You were a friend of my mothers. Mrs. Walker, right?” And she is. He remembers her bringing over crock-pots of chilli for them when his mom had started getting sick. The woman had taken it on herself to help with meals. Not charity. Just being a good friend, she’d insisted. But something had happened and she’d left three months before the end. Or he’d thought she’d left, though perhaps not. The apartment looks the same as it did four-and-a-half years ago; shabby furniture, hideous yellow walls. At least this one doesn’t seem to have any mold, which is a minor miracle.

Looking at the woman, he sees that she is holding a large, ratty cardboard box, its top taped shut. The boy’s brows knit together in puzzlement. But the answer to his unasked question is not forthcoming. Instead she’s smiling at him in that motherly way. 

“That’s right,” she says warmly. “How you been doing?” 

That voice is so honest that he almost smiles to himself, the rolling emotional storm momentarily subsides. But only momentarily, then his habitual defensiveness is back in full force. “Getting by,” is all he will offer her. Anything more than that could be dangerous on so many levels.

Thankfully, the woman doesn’t seem inclined to probe further.

“You kind of disappeared right after your mother died,” she muses as her generous bulk waddles over to the table, and she sets the box down.

Okay, now this he can answer. He actually had a reason for disappearing and moving his few things to that abandoned building. A valid reason that had nothing to do with Bruce or the Mission. 

“Juvenile authorities were looking to put me into a state home,” he says sullenly. “Didn’t wanna go.” The bitterness in his voice is very real. The majority of his time during those first days alone had been divided between finding his next meal and ducking assorted social workers, or anyone that could turn him over to them. Those tasks had been in addition to his obvious need to stay in one piece. Going to the home might have been safer then the streets, but...No. Just no.

“Can’t blame you for that,” Mrs. Walker says with open understanding. Not with sympathy per se, rather it’s with a knowledge of how fucked up the system really is. “But when no one claimed your family’s possessions, the landlord sold them off. I was able to save this stuff for you, ‘case you ever came back.” She sighs. The landlord’s action hadn’t been illegal, but it rankled. “Afraid it’s a bit water damaged. Darn leaky roofs.” Pudgy fingers work the tape. One weak flap rips open instead. “The owner is too cheap to fix them,” the woman grumbles with a combination of palpable irritation and resignation.

Curious, Jason moves closer. Quietly he reaches in to take out a few things. His eyes widen in genuine surprise. “Photographs!” comes the quiet exclamation. Then he’s digging around in the box some more. This time he pulls up a handful of documents. “Personal papers,” he says a little louder, a pleased smile spreading across his face.

The woman is smiling at Jason’s obvious appreciation. “Thought it’d be stuff you might like to have,” she says.

Jason doesn’t notice anything but the contents of the box. “This is terrific!” he exclaims, eyes bright with excitement. “How can I ever thank you...?”

“Ain’t nothing,” the woman says distractedly. Then she moves, gently herding him and his box of treasures toward the door. “Now, I got to shoo you out of here, lad. Got shopping I gotta do.” She takes her purse before walking him out, carefully locking the door behind them. 

Jason grins his thanks, then starts walking. The box isn’t heavy, but there’s no way he’s walking back to the Bristol with it. Jason makes his way towards one of the nearby commercial districts where the cabs still show up on occasion. He hails one and climbs in, giving directions to the driver. He doesn’t think about the fact that he is heading back to the manor and all that means.

The sunset is a red smear on the western horizon as he finally heads back to the Wayne ancestral home. He feels a little bad about ignoring Alfred as he takes his prize up to his room, but fuck it. Alfred is the same as Bruce; they’ve both decided that Jason is a royal screw-up. With that realization, he doesn’t feel so bad anymore. Over his shoulder he tells the butler that he’ll be in his room and that he doesn’t want to be bugged.

Once in his room, he carefully spreads out the contents, then sits down to look them over. He touches them, needing to connect with the past they represent. He pulls out a picture of his mom, his dad and himself in their good clothes from before the bad times; before his father first went to jail and his mother started turning tricks. He remembers those times, though they are only vaguely things at the back of his mind now. 

He gives himself a shake and puts the photo that one down, focusing on the papers instead. He’s more than a little surprised to find a deed to some land out in Virginia, somewhere. Jason wonders briefly why they’d been living in Crime Alley if they had land. However, when he looks at it more closely, he understands; it’s only .78 of an acre. And it’s not in a large city, or even a small village when he looks it up. Well crap.

The old school report cards are next. Of course his mom kept those but, gah! He chuckles as he reads the teachers’ comments. There are more than a few complaints about his inattention, but there is also praise for his quick mind. The card from the end of kindergarten positively gushes about the playhouse he made out of popsicle sticks. Jason smiles to himself, remembering that.

The smile broadens as he reads, though he doesn’t realize it. His chest feels tight and strangely free at the same time. The boy’s fingers come across a lapsed insurance policy with his father’s signature. The next thing is his birth certificate. The smile turns to shock. Under ‘Father’ is Willis Todd’s name, but under ‘Mother’... it’s smudged. All he can make out is the first letter, an ‘S’. Wait! His mother’s name was Catherine! 

His heart pounds as he tries to puzzle out something more from the water-damaged paper. A single letter isn’t much to go on, but it starts his mind running in frantic little circles. If Catherine Todd hadn’t been his real mother, then maybe, maybe his mother is still alive. Maybe, somewhere, he still has a family of his own!

That realization all but floors him and he sits heavily on the bed for he doesn’t know how long. His mind oh-so-helpfully flashes images of the woman that had always cared for him. Catherine WAS his mother in every sense of the word, minus biology, apparently. But that doesn’t mean… It can’t mean anything. Not as far as his feelings for her go. It shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t. So why is his heart pounding like a jackhammer?

He feels both excited and positively traitorous.

It’s not that he’s all of a sudden stopped loving the woman that raised him. It’s not that at all. But… But now everything that he knew, everything that he felt, has been called into question and he has no idea how to process that. In essence he’s been lied to all his life. That makes him mad, but it’s a fleeting thing. What would it have changed if he’d known, really? They had been good times. He’d been cared for. Loved. Jason will never, ever doubt that.

Yet the idea that he has a mother out there somewhere, alive… someone he doesn’t know, someone who could be his family, is an alluring thought. Just one problem: he only has a single letter to go on. That’s not possibly enough, is it?

The teen grins to himself. Two years with Bruce have to be fucking good for something! He heads back to the bed—when had he stood up and started pacing?!—where he once more digs through the box. Yes! His fingers close about a promising little black book. An address book. A quick look-through shows it to be his father’s. He begins scouring the contents, carefully searching for any names starting with “S.” When he finishes reading it for a fifth time, Jason concludes that yes there are only three. It narrows things down nicely, but there is a rather large snag: the addresses have to be several years old at least. Nothing says the women are still living at those addresses. Still, it’s a starting point, and that’s pretty damned sweet!

He could cold-call the numbers in the book. It is an option, just not a very good one. Yeah, hi, I’m Jason and I think you might be my mom, probably wouldn’t go over well. No, he has to do this right. And to do that... The boy smirks. Time to visit the Batcave with its lovely computer.

***********

He rubs his eyes and blinks at the readout on the screen. The search took all fucking night, but he found the current whereabouts of all three ladies. Thank God Bruce is off being obsessed with something. Heh, he never thought he’d ever think of that as a good thing. 

Interesting. All of the women are currently in the Middle East, though the similarities end there. Sharmin Rosen immigrated to Israel six years ago, and is apparently employed by the Israeli Secret Service. Shiva Woosan, on the other hand, has no such political affiliations. Instead, she seems to be a mercenary-for-hire with a chequered past. Her last-known base of operations was Lebanon. Hopefully, she hasn’t decided to move on just yet.

Finally, there is Dr. Sheila Hayward, who is involved in the famine relief efforts in Ethiopia. That one sounds the most innocent of the lot. And she’s blonde. He has no idea why his mind is focused on such an irrelevancy. It’s possible that he’s a little punchy from lack of sleep, given that the computer is telling him it’s 7:24 am; way past a good little birdie’s bedtime. Of course, that doesn’t really describe Jason, so meh.

He leans back in the computer chair and thinks about what he’s learned and what his next step will be. A small voice at the back of his mind whispers that he should tell Bruce and get his help. The guy is a much better at the detective stuff than he is...

No sooner does that thought flit through his grey matter than he discards it ruthlessly. He can already hear Bruce’s disapproving monotone in his head. You’re in no shape to be running off on this type of investigation! On top of that, the idiot wouldn’t even care. What the hell would finding Jason’s real mother matter to him? She’s not a super-villain bent on murder and mayhem, so she wouldn’t even register. That finding her is important to Jason is just one more thing the asshole would use against him, showing how he wasn’t fit for duty, or some other stupidity.

Feh! No, this one is all his; no way is he telling anyone about it, either. Bruce doesn’t trust him? That’s just fine, the feeling is mutual. Of course, he doesn’t have to trust Bruce to make use of his money. He has more than enough credit cards to make his efforts reasonably smooth. Yeah, the asshole could trace him through the transactions but there are ways around that.

Right, then. He has a plan. Of course, it’s too juvenile for words to simply run away. While Bruce can go fuck himself, Alfred deserves better, even if he does usually side with Wayne. Fine. It won’t kill him to leave a note on his bed. After he packs up and gets himself a cab. No point in giving them more opportunities to stop him then he has to. 

He puts the Robin suit on under his civilian clothes. The quest should be mundane enough, but it never hurts to be ready for anything. Jason packs light: a couple of changes of clothes, some bat-toys and the pixie boots in the x-ray-proof compartment at the bottom. The teen makes sure he has his wallet, and he’s good. Jason tiptoes through the manor, carefully avoiding Alfred—which is bloody difficult!—so that he can leave the note peeking out from under his pillow. Then more sneaking as he heads out to meet the cab at the front gates, out of sight of prying eyes.

He spends the ride to the airport looking out the window and wondering which of the three ladies it will turn out to be. If it turns out to be any of them. He needs to be prepared for that possibility as well. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, but he also shouldn’t get ahead of himself. He’s got three suspects and they need to be investigated first before he can look at the possibility of others.

Jason feels tentatively positive as he walks into Archie Goodwin. That feeling flees for parts unknown as he notices a very familiar profile pacing near the ticket counter.

“DICK?!” he demands, pissed beyond words and wondering what the fuck to do now.


	2. Part Two

It’s the grin. It’s the goddamned grin. That has to be it. Maybe. No, more likely it’s the fact that it’s Grayson that makes Jason see red. Or it could be that Jay’s just focusing on his nose. Even though that irritating smile reaches clear to Grayson’s eyes, making it look like they’re fucking laughing at him, it’s obvious that the former Robin is really not feeling well. Red nose, pale complexion, sweats, sniffles, a dry cough that he’s trying to suppress...

“Why the hell are you here?!” he demands testily, resisting the ridiculous urge to stamp his foot. This just isn’t possible. He made sure to get everything set up beforehand, meaning that he’d planned it when he left so that there wouldn’t be time for anyone to come after him. And Goldie lives in New York, over two hours away. The ride to the airport is only 35 minutes. It’s just not possible!

Yet there he is, grinning at Jason and pretending not to be sick. It’s not only wrong on so many levels, but also a complete pissoff. Whatever, he has a job to do and he’s sure as fuck not going back to the Manor.

“Intercepting you,” the acrobat says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Which it is, but that doesn’t help at all. Nor does Grayson’s ignoring of Jason’s very meaningful glare. What the hell? “Do you take lessons in being this annoying? Or does it just come naturally?” Jason sneers. He knows that it’s the wrong thing to say even before it’s finished coming out.

Goldie’s grin gets bigger. However he ruins the effect by hastily raising his arm and coughing into it.

Jason doesn’t actually wince, but wow. “Why are you ‘intercepting’ me when you clearly should be in bed sucking back chicken soup? Do I hafta tell Alfred on you?”

“Alfred’s the one who called me, kiddo,” Grayson manages after the fit subsides. His grin takes on a sheepish quality. “He was worried. Called me last night. Said that you and Bruce were going at it again. He promised me that he’d make me all the chicken soup I could eat if I came down and talked to you.”

The sapphire blue eyes aren’t smiling now. If anything they look wary. Okay maybe not wary, exactly. Jason just isn’t ready to deal with whatever it is that he is seeing.

“Looks to me like it’s a lot more than that,” the former Robin says shrewdly.

Jason rolls his eyes at that.

Grayson keeps talking. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. But I never pegged you as leaving town when things got to weird. Not in civvies.”

It’s obvious to Jason that the man is trying to puzzle this one through. He’s not really in a mood to explain anything, but... “I’ve got a case I’m working,” the teen says cryptically. Maybe he should just shut up and ignore the other speaker, given how interested he seems in anything Jason has to say. Crap.

“Yeah? Cool! I’ll come with!” That was almost a bounce. Double crap. Grayson heads over to the ticket counter and glances back with a smirk. “So, where are we going on Bruce’s dime?”

He sighs. It’s a long and gusty one, because he knows damned well that he’s not winning this one. Not only does Grayson want to be in on a case, but Jason has given him another way to needle Bruce. Well, that is something actually. At least Dick isn’t likely to take Bruce’s side and at this point, that counts for a lot.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he moves over to beside his older... brother? Does Grayson really qualify as one, seeing as he was Wayne’s ward? He knows Goldie thinks of them as brothers, of a sort. For his part, Jason isn’t sure what he thinks. No, better not to think about it; he’s got three women to find. Who knows? The guy might actually be useful.

The woman behind the counter is smiling, which is kind of disturbing since she looks like his sourpuss fifth grade teacher. He suppresses a shudder and hands over the gold card. “Two first class tickets to Tel Aviv, Israel,” he informs her. She nods and taps away on her keyboard. It’s not long before she is handing him the boarding passes.

When he doesn’t immediately give one to his chaperone, the asshole swipes it from his grasp. Bloody hell! Why the fuck can’t the jerk act his goddamn age?!

They still have time before they need to board. And there’s no way he’ll get Grayson to stay quiet for long so he might as well make the man’s incessant chatter work for him.

“Start at the beginning. What did Alfred say, and why did you come to the airport?” If nothing else, he can figure out how he fucked up. He begins to regret that question too, as a slow smile spreads over the other’s features.

“Well.... It all started a week ago....”

Jason lets out the exasperated groan.

***

“I am not staying behind!” Dick all but yells at Kory’s retreating back. Of course he has to give chase, ignoring the fact that the effort makes him light-headed. Not only does his team need him, what awaits him if he stays behind is against the Geneva Convention. Or it damned well should be.

“It has been decided, Dick,” the sultry voice tells him in an uncompromising tone. “You are very ill, and as such, the strain of a mission is not a good idea. As well, if you come with us, we shall be worrying about you.” She turns around and he almost collides with that very impressive chest of hers. “Your presence would put the team in danger.” Trust her to appeal to his sense of responsibility to his team-mates.

Lovely arms move around the small of his back, pulling him close. Then warm, oh-so-soft lips are on his, kissing him gently, deeply. Coaxing, claiming—

(“We’re in an airport. Can the soft-core porn.”)

(“Spoilsport.”)

When Dick can think again, he looks up into the beautifully glowing eyes and all he can do is nod. Of course, he’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing with or to. All he knows is that he could drown in Kory’s smile and die a happy man.

“Good. Then I shall see you when we return,” she tells him sweetly.

What? Huh?! No, wait... But his cheeks are starting to heat up in the absence of her cool hands, and there is the barest hint of lovely red hair disappearing around the corner. He moves to follow, but admittedly this is not one of his better days. Dick is out of breath by the time he makes it to the hangar, and by then, the hatch is already opening to allow the craft to depart.

All that’s left for him to do is wave good bye to his friends as the sleek shuttle lifts off. Standing there, feeling depressingly helpless and maybe a little dejected, he is reminded of why he didn’t want to be left behind.

“Hey! Why are you out of bed, Dickster?!” the scrawny little redhead demands as he comes nearer. Danny Chase. The team’s telekinetic, and well-meaning pain in the ass. At the moment the kid is moving behind Dick, turning him around and beginning to push him towards the hallway. The fact that the kid can move him about without using his power really says something about Dick’s condition. “Come on. Let’s go tuck you in and I’ll fix you some chicken soup.”

Dick stifles a groan, barely. Sure enough, everything becomes a battle with Danny, who apparently thinks that Dick can’t even go to the bathroom without help, and he really has to draw the line at that one. Dick’s also pretty sure that the teen is unintentionally poisoning him, since until now, he’s never been sick more than three days in his life. He’s still bedridden when Alfred calls at the end of the week.

It’s almost comical how eager he is to talk to the old butler and find out how the family is doing. Apparently not very well. Alfred explains about Jason and Bruce’s latest blow up and Dick bites his lip to refrain from commenting on Bruce’s obvious pattern of behaviour.

He is quick to promise to come down to Gotham, but actually getting out of the Tower proves tricky. How the hell had Danny got access to the surveillance feeds in the bedrooms?! He really doesn’t want to think about what else that might mean for all of them. Gar will go ballistic if he finds out.

It is 5am before he is on his way.

(“You totally fell asleep.”)

(“Shush. I do have duct tape with me.”)

Even though traffic is fairly light, Dick arrives at the manor just as a yellow cab is pulling away from the front gate. He can’t see who is in it, but rather than follow, he decides to check with Alfred. After all, it could be one of Bruce’s dates.

“Hello?” He calls, pushing the large door open. Alfred is in the foyer, dialling the cloisonne telephone, but when he spots Dick a relieved expression crosses his face and he puts the receiver back in its ornate cradle.

“Master Dick, thank you.” The man hurries toward him, a piece of paper in his outstretched hand. “I fear things have grown substantially worse in the hours since I called.”

Taking the paper, Dick glances at the blocky writing. “Discovered some interesting things. Gone to find my mother. Catch you later.” He puzzles over that, his foggy brain not grasping the meaning of the words with its customary ease. Until Alfred hands him a tattered birth certificate, explaining that it had been on the boy’s bed. There is another piece of paper, one with three names on it. Dick pockets both and sighs. The original Robin tries to kick his head into gear.

“Okay, Alfred, I need you to get down to the cave. See if you can run down anything to tell us where he’s going. Call me if you find something,” he says over his shoulder, as he turns to leave the same way he came.

“And where shall you be, sir?” Alfred can’t hide the concern in his voice.

“The taxi that just left was heading west, not south, so I’m betting he’s on his way to the airport.” He pulls the helmet back on his head. “If you find out differently, let me know.” Then he was out the door and back on his bike, speeding toward Archie Goodwin International, and breaking a half a dozen traffic laws in the process.

***

“…Then it was just a matter of waiting for you. All of seventy-four seconds,” he concludes with a smirk as he reclines back in his chair.

A stewardess comes by and asks if they would like anything. Jason almost winces as Goldie begins to flirt with the woman. “Rum and coke,” Jason says, trying to get her attention.

Grayson snorts at that, but the stewardess at least has the class to give him a gentle smile. “First class section or not, you don’t look ripe enough for rum. How about a straight coke instead?” She favours him with a friendly wink so he can’t really feel too disgruntled.

He sighs and nods. “Fine.”

No sooner does she head to the next person than his seat mate is poking at him. “Hey, don’t tell me that you drink as well as smoke!”

“Only when I have someone pestering me,” he grouches. Okay, that’s not true. Alcohol has never held any interest for him, but dork breath doesn’t need to know that.

“Hey, it’s in my contract,” Grayson protests, holding up his hands and grinning. Again. Does he ever stop?

While they really haven’t spent a lot of time together, it’s getting harder and harder to be pissed at the man. Actually, on the whole, Grayson—Dick—has been pretty cool about his talking smack and generally being a punk. He has no idea why the guy would go to the effort, but at the moment he really isn’t inclined to ask. Have to stay on target here. Thankfully, Big Bird seems inclined to let him.

“So why are we going all the way to Israel?” Dick asks after a moment.

“The three women that might be my biological mother are all in the Middle East. So I have to go there.” It feels pretty damn good to make that declaration as it reaffirms his resolve. He’s not quite smiling, but he does settle back a bit more into his chair.

“Yeah, okay.” Dick frowns as if reading more into the words. He pulls something from his pocket. “Maybe I’m being dense, but why not just ask for a new copy?” he asks as he waves the document in Jason’s direction.

With a little annoyed sound, Jason takes it and holds it close. “You idiot,” the teen hisses with an irritated glare, “I left it at the manor so that it would be safe!” The glare turns into a fond look both for the paper and for its precious information. “When Bruce adopted me, he found out that that St. Anthony’s, where I’d been born, burned down ages ago. Most of the documents went with it. And for whatever reason, I guess it wasn’t submitted to the Vital Statistics Office before everything went up in smoke. The Old Man had to grease a lot of palms to get around that glitch.”

Jason glances up from the paper and scowls. The man beside him has a far away and rather pained expression. Oh. Right. Fuck. Dick has all those damned issues about being a ‘ward’ and Jason just rubbed his nose in it. Not that he should care, right? It’s not like he asked Bruce to adopt him or fire Dick or any of it. Still, he feels pretty lousy.

So, he socks Dick in the bicep, hard enough to rock him in his cushy seat. “Hey, it’s so not all it’s cracked up to be. It just gives the idiot more entitlement issues. Count yourself lucky that you got out.”

When the sapphire-blue eyes meet his, they are meant to appear relaxed, maybe even teasing, yet they aren’t even close. “Is that what you’re doing on this plane? Getting out?” Dick frowns at the realization that he isn’t fooling anyone.

“Right now, I’m just looking for my mom,” Jason says firmly. He really hasn’t thought beyond that. For all he knows, she’ll turn out to be a wasted junky or something. Or she could be mom of the year, though if that’s the case, why the hell didn’t she keep him? He tries to shrug it off. That’s a lot easier to do when Dick has a very wet sneeze. “Guh! Gross man, really gross. If you make me sick, I’m so going to...” Damn! He can’t think of a good enough threat.

Dick wipes his nose on a tissue and grins at Jason. “Yeah? Whatcha gonna do?”

An evil smirk spreads across the boy’s face. “I’m going to put muscle liniment on your jock strap,” he promises in a falsely sweet voice.

“You are a nasty little punk,” Dick informs him, just before he turns around to wrap an arm about Jason’s shoulders and pulls him in for a noogie.

“Hey, get off, you jerk!” the teen splutters as he tries to get his arms free. Oh yeah, it’s going to be a very long flight.

***

Well, fucking hell. Okay, fine, line-ups were to be expected, but this is just ridiculous. Five hours?! Seriously. Jason is scowling darkly when they finally make it to the wicket and the dumpy little bureaucrat behind it. It could be that Dick thinks his expression inappropriate since he’s taken that moment to elbow Jason sharply in the ribs. Of course that doesn’t improve the teen’s countenance, although he does try to put on his game face lest he make the pencil pusher wary.

Jason is careful to let Dick do the talking. It’s irritating as hell that the guy can even charm the little toad behinds the desk, but useful just the same. The two get their passports stamped and are quickly on their way.

“Yeesh! Air port security wasn’t half as bad as that. Okay, hurdle two down; where to now, kiddo?” The man’s obvious enthusiasm is somewhat ruined by the fact that he’s just honked his nose into his handkerchief. Again. That thing has to be disgusting by now.

“Computer store. Get a lap top. Then a hotel,” Jason grouches. “What?” He demands indignantly as he notices the way that Dick is looking at him.

“You could have brought one on the flight...” Dick is eyeing him as if wondering about the current Robin’s sanity. Of all the damned... Fuck, the asshole is dense, and Jason doubts it has anything to do with the man’s cold.

“Yeah, I could. And Bruce would likely have six ways to track it and anything I use it for. No fucking thanks.” This is his show, not Bruce’s. No way is he going to let the asshole have any part of this. “And don’t you get any ideas, or you can get your ass back on that flight!” The kid pulls himself up to his full height, which is six inches shy of Dick’s. Damn.

His unwanted companion holds his hands up to ward off Jason’s anger. “Easy, Little Wing. I’m just here to help. And yeah, Bruce probably would trace it. So, computer store it is. But we also need a pharmacy. I’m dying here.” Dick turns a truly pathetic look toward his younger brother.

Jason snorts rudely, but he has to smile. “Fine, fine. We’ll do that too. And food.” The meal on the flight was awhile ago, and he’s ready for something else.

“Oh yes! Food would be good.”

Jason growls and heads out to hail a taxi. Getting one is easy enough and the guy even speaks English. But when Dick decides to show off by speaking Hebrew, Jason can only fold his arms and sit back in his seat. Tel Aviv is a strange place. It’s not anything like Gotham, but it’s also not a desert shanty town. There are skyscrapers along with a different architecture that feels older in a way he can’t really put his finger on.

As Dick babbles to the taxi driver, Jason has to wonder why he’s allowing the man to be part of this. Granted, he didn’t really have a choice back at the airport, nor on the plane. But now that they’ve landed, Jason could easily dodge him. All he’d have to do is out run the idiot, which won’t be hard with the man being sick.

So why hasn’t he done that already? Or at least contemplated it? He doesn’t know. It’s just… It’s not the same, not like when it’s Bruce. Dick is really personable where as the Old Man so isn’t. And while Bruce would be all business, Dick is inclined to enjoy things to the hilt, as well as get the job done. It is a nice change. Plus, Dick isn’t trying to take over. He asks what Jason wants to do, instead of telling him, and that is so bonus. If nothing else, having an extra pair of hands along could come in—heh—handy.

He’s a little surprised when the cab pulls to a stop before a large commercial building. Jason gets out as Dick pays the man in American dollars, giving him a hefty bonus to wait for them. They should probably get some local currency, which would be less likely to cause problems seeing as some places will only take shekels.

Taking his carry-on and suitcase, he heads into the building. It turns out to be just what they were looking for. It’s not like the box electronic stores back home, but there’s nothing wrong with the products on the limited counter space. Jason examines the specs with a practiced eye and then selects the highest-end machine there. The street rat in him is wincing at the price tag, but it’s not like he can’t afford it. He just hands over the gold card.

“Speaking of not wanting Bruce to find us,” Dick hisses at him quietly.

Jason makes a shushing motion. It’s not that the cards are stolen; they have the name of the teen’s false identities on them. Still, there’s no reason to make the proprietor suspicious.

The transaction goes through and he takes the bags that now contain his new computer, software and carry case. They head back to the cab, which is still dutifully waiting for them, with Dick all but bursting at the seams, dying to ask the as yet unspoken question. “When we get to the hotel,” is all he’ll promise. “You needed a pharmacy right?”

Okay, so it’s a transparent attempt to distract him, but Dick is willing to let it slide. For now.

The amount of stuff the guy gets in the way of cold meds is decidedly impressive. He really must be miserable. He sure sounds it for all that he still looks scarily happy. Some part of him wonders if that means anything, but he squelches the thought. He doesn’t have time for sentimental shit. They are here to see his case gets solved. His case. All his.

Yeah, this is a big ‘fuck you’ to Bruce, in more ways than one.

Now that they both have what they need, Jason instructs the cabby to drive them to a good hotel. One that has room service. Jason has a lot he wants to get done, and that won’t happen when they’re off sitting in a restaurant somewhere. Besides, no reason to slum it until they have to. If they have to. Hopefully, this will all be very straightforward.

Who the hell is he kidding? He’s got a spy and a mercenary are on the list!

Jason gets them checked in. Yes, he very much wants a suite with two beds. No way is he letting the walking germ factory over there sleep with him. It’s all going smoothly so far, maybe a little too smoothly. It’s making his skin itch. Of course, Dick is bouncing again in the elevator. Bouncing a lot, for a guy who’s sick.

“What the hell, Dick?” He glares at him.

“Dayquil is lovely, lovely stuff,” Dick gushes.

Jason tries not to cringe. He doesn’t even want to know how much of that stuff the dork has taken.

“So about the cards,” Dick drawls at him, grinning. The opening of the elevator doors isn’t going to save him from having to answer. Fine. He steps out and follows the sign pointing the way toward their room.

“I have some computer skills.” It comes out defensively. Fuck. “Anyhow, he’ll be able to crack it, but he’s going to have to look for it instead of having the computer beeping every time we use one.” And what will it mean if Bruce does make the effort? Will it matter? Yes. Jason doesn’t want him swooping in too soon.

Dick is nodding at him like a demented bobble-head. The sense of world-class wrongness is back. Jason huffs and opens the door. It’s a nice big suite. The beds look good and soft. He puts his bags down on one to go check the sight lines from the window, just in case.

“So, who are we going after first?”

“Sharmin Rosen. She works for the Mossad. That’s the Israeli Secret Service.”

Dick looks thoughtful, although maybe he’s just stoned. “Yeah? Have you tried contacting her through official channels? Seems like the sort of thing to try what with Jason Todd, civilian teenager, being her son and all.”

That one earns him an eyeroll. “That’s what I’m about to do. Doubt it will get anywhere, but we can’t be suiting up till dark anyhow.”

“Awwwww, they grow up so fast,” Dick purrs as he goes for a hair ruffle. Jason is seriously considering hitting him. Maybe mess up that perfect nose of his. “Kay, you get started on that. I’m going to order us dinner.”

Fine, whatever. Hopefully that will keep Dick out of his way for more than five minutes. Time to get to work. He sets up the new computer and starts the process of finding names of contacts whom he might approach regarding the whereabouts of one Ms. Rosen.


	3. Part Three

“You’re sure this is a good idea?” Dick’s annoying voice is in his ear. Again. This is the fifth time that he’s asked that in the last twenty minutes. 

Jason grits his teeth as he looks at the less-than-imposing chain-link fence. He’s very thankful that the installation’s physical defences aren’t nearly as meticulous as its cyber-security. “Very sure,” he grits out. “My hacking skills aren’t good enough to get past their systems. But I need to see the files on Sharmin Rosen’s current assignment.”

All of his phone calls to the numbers he’d found for Bruce’s contacts at Shin Bet hadn’t yielded anything. Which wasn’t a surprise but he had still had to try.

He’s jarred out of his thoughts by his partner’s next comment: “You know, I could have hacked it for you.” This is not the first time Dick’s mentioned that particular offer. Jason’s teeth are starting to hurt.

“This is my case and she might be MY mother,” the teen hisses into the comm. “So I’m the one that needs to do this. You just keep an eye on their systems and let me know if anyone is headed my way.” Speaking his reasoning aloud—also not for the first time, gah!—makes him want to... something.

Maybe he should count his blessings that Dick’s last dose of Dayquil was three hours ago. Meaning that the worst of the bouncing has now passed. However, he’ll be needing another dose soon. Best to try and get this out of the way before it’s time for that eventuality. As he sneaks into the installation, he muses about leaving an anonymous note for the bigwigs on how they really need to beef up their security. The few guards he sees are less-than-attentive. Getting into an office with a computer wasn’t that hard. That Dick wasn’t yakking his ear off the entire time was a fucking miracle. Actually...

“N? You still with me?” he whispers. Jason really wouldn’t be surprised if the idiot was having heart palpitations or some other crap from all the over-the-counter meds his supposed older brother has been mixing.

“Yup, right here Little Wing; just been checking the security network. And no, you haven’t tripped anything,” he assures Jason cheerily. 

Somehow, Jason is pretty sure there’s more to it than that, but he lets it go. He’s standing inside what has to be some sort of command centre. Before him stretch rows of work stations, each with a computer console mounted atop a desk. After a quick look around, he curses under his breath. This explains a lot. These work stations aren’t hooked up to an outside line. So it’s a good bet that the information he needs is kept on an internal server. It couldn’t have been remote hacked even if he’d taken up Dick’s offer. That makes him feel a little better. At least until he notices the next obstacle. The keyboards are in Hebrew.

Okay, it’s fine. He thought this might happen and planned for it. Jason has a pocket dictionary and phrase book with him, but he knows that they won’t be enough. Gingerly, he sets a gloved hand on the mouse and moves it a fraction of an inch. He’s rewarded when the black screen turns royal blue and a grey box pops up. There’s an official-looking logo and a lot of writing he hasn’t got the time or ability to puzzle out, but he doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out that the flashing word with the empty field below has to be asking for a password.

He groans. Now what? He’s not giving up now, not after getting this close. He thinks for a moment. Then, carefully, he extracts a thin lock pick from one of the compartments of his utility belt and cautiously jimmies open the drawer. He makes a face. He hadn’t really expected to find anything useful, but it had been worth a try. He sighs and moves down the row, hoping against hope that somebody somehow... YES! It takes him eight tries but finally, inside one locked drawer, he sees a slip of paper with what appears to be eight letters and numbers. It’s a password! It has to be! Quickly he opens the dictionary to the page with the alphabet—the alef-bet, rather. His face falls. These letters don’t look anything like what’s on the paper! It’s... it’s chicken scratches!

Wait... what are all these other columns? The first one on the left has the name of the letter in English. The next one over is headed ‘book’ and has the letters he’s vaguely taken note of on most of the store signs he’s passed by. The next column: cursive... wait. Are these supposed to be another way to write the same letters? Cripes. He knows that even in English, some letters don’t look much like their printed counterparts but this... this still doesn’t look like anything on the paper. “Nightwing? What the HELL is Rashi script?”

Dick sounds amused. “It’s... well... it’s kind of like a...” His voice trails off for a moment. “Actually,” he continues, “it’s a font. See, back a few hundred years ago, just about the only books printed in Hebrew were religious texts. And usually they came with commentaries and annotations. One of the best-known commentaries was by a scholar named ‘Rashi’ and the printers always put his notes in a different typeface so it would stand out. Oh, and by the way...”

Jason scowls. Dick’s tone is far too casual, all of a sudden.

“Shin-Bet likes that script a whole lot.”

The scowl deepens. But the non-numeric characters on the paper he’s found DO look something like the markings in the ‘Rashi’ column. If written by someone with extremely poor handwriting.

He starts typing the password, and then stops. Why is the stupid system doing it backw—oh. Hebrew goes left-to-right. It’s like mirror-writing. He’s got to type the last character first.

He’s in! Of course the data is all in Hebrew but it’s in the ‘book’ font. And he knows a keyword search field when he sees it. So... if he types in Sharmin Rosen’s name, and copies what comes up... then Dick will be able to feed that to the Titans systems and see what he can decode. Okay. So... ‘Rosen’. He just needs to spell it out using the Hebrew letters, right? So the letter with the ‘r’ sound... resh should be first. Then... they use the same letter for ‘o’ and ‘v’???? Fine. Vav it is. Then s would be... samek and n, nun! That should...

“Damn it!”

“No luck?”

Jason can’t believe this has all been for nothing. “There’s no personnel listed under Rosen. She’s probably got some freaking code name like ‘Desert Wolf’ or ‘Mata Hari’ or something.”

“You sure you’re spelling it right? You know the ‘o’ is written with a...”

“With a vav, I know, okay? Resh, vav, samek, nun. That’s nun as in nada.”

There was a long pause. Then... “Try a zayin instead of a samekh.”

“What?”

“I know you write ‘Rosen’ in English with an ‘s’, but you pronounce it like it’s a ‘z’. Try using the Hebrew letter with that sound, instead.”

Jason realizes that his hands are sweating. Hardly daring to breathe, he makes the change. For several long moments, an hourglass replaces the blinking-line cursor. Then...

“YESSSSSSSSS!”

Okay, a happy dance would be absurdly inappropriate at the moment. So instead he focuses on the task at hand. Transferring the files to his thumb drive seems to take fucking forever. Needless to say, he’s jumpy as hell when he has what he needs.

Now he just has to get out. As he retraces his steps, he thinks about talking to Bruce about getting a Robin suit in black. He clamps down hard on that idea. If everything goes well, if he can find the woman that gave birth to him, then he may never set foot in Wayne Manor again.

He doesn’t think about what that will mean for his career as a teenaged vigilante. He can’t now. Later, when he’s found his mother and seen what kind of person she is. Maybe she’ll be cool with it. He’d hate to have to hide it from her.

Enough of that, Jason tells himself. Right now, he needs to concentrate on not getting shot.

Thankfully, it’s quiet. He hasn’t been here long enough for anyone to have noticed anything’s up. Still, when things go this smoothly, it makes the spot between his shoulder blades itches. Finally he’s over the fencing and heading for the van where Dick is waiting. The teen nearly jumps out of his skin as a hand descends on his shoulder. He’s already in the process of throwing his assailant when he recognizes his partner in...espionage? Yay for reflexes. Of course Dick has his own set of those, and he flips through the throw, to land on his feet again with disgusting ease.

With the man standing before him grinning, Jason is even more disappointed that he didn’t actually face plant the acrobat’s dripping nose in the dirt. 

“Get everything?” Dick wants to know.

Jason nods as he moves into the back of the vehicle. He needs to strip and change, just in case they get pulled over, or something else equally annoying. “Yeah. I think so. But we gotta run it through a translator to be sure. Anything interesting happen out here?” He shimmies out of the tunic and pulls on a forest green t-shirt. The pixie boots and panties are soon discarded and he sighs as he pulls on the jeans. Bare legs always have made him nervous, ever since that incident that took place a year ago.

“Not really,” Dick admits. 

Jason eyes him. He’s not entirely sure what he’s hearing in the other young man’s voice. It’s not quite surprise, nor is it regret. Huh, whatever. “Well, that’s good. We need to get back to the hotel and then figure out where we’re going,” he says waggling the thumb drive by his ear.

When Dick starts nodding like a demented bobble-head, Jason gets the desperate urge to smack him. The ass would not doubt blame the cold meds for his behavior, but Jason knows better. No, he’s really not feeling a migraine coming out, but geeze!

******************************************************

He’s honestly starting to hate planes. Massive loathing, really.

Getting back to the hotel and packing up hadn’t been hard. Translating the files had been surprisingly easy; they hadn’t even needed to use the systems at Titans Tower. And booking a light was utterly routine. But then the plane arrived three hours late. He should have boosted the Batwing.

Oh well, too late now. The flight takes them to Kiryat Shmona in Israel’s north. From there it’s a matter of getting themselves into one of the tour groups that trek across the border. The guy next to him smells like he hasn’t bathed in a month. Dick also sneezes most of the way, which almost gets them into at least one fight. 

Their guides are adamant about the need to stay with the group, since Americans are not viewed favourably in Lebanon. While they do their best the keep the group together, it’s really not that hard for Dick and him to slip away.

At least this time, they don’t have to worry about stopping anywhere. Covered up with keffiyehs, the pair heads to the seedy area of town that holds the Hotel Blu, where Rosen is supposedly staying. Jason cases the street. This is a nasty place; he wonders how many thugs are lurking in the shadows. Not that he is concerned, given his skills, but some street rat habits are still very much a part of him.

It’s mid-afternoon, but that doesn’t really mean much. He glances up at the surrounding buildings. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Dick wants to know around a mouthful of... something he’s not sure he wants to know the name of. 

Jason suppresses a shudder and hopes the asshole will keep his mouth CLOSED. Unlikely, but he can still hope. 

“We gonna bust in there, tie her up and interrogate her?” 

The words are light and teasing. Jason rolls his eyes.

“Jason Todd is going to knock on her door and ask her a few questions.” He can positively feel Dick gaping at him. His fingers flex. He really wants to hit the jerk.

“And she might decide to shoot the random kid who shows up at her hotel room, asking personal questions, while she’s in the field, on assignment.”

There is an infuriating amount of logic in that.

“I suppose you have a better idea,” he snaps in a hushed whisper as he grabs Dick’s shirt and drags him into an alley.

The acrobat swallows whatever he’s eating and nods. “Yup, something more subtle.”

Jason can’t repress the derisive snort. “When have you EVER been subtle?” This is, after all, the guy whose suit has a fucking disco collar.

“Oh, hush; I have my moments.”

“Few and far between though they are,” Jason grumbles under his breath none too quietly. Dick chooses to ignore him.

“Let’s recon, check if she’s out. If she’s not, we wait until she is. Then we sneak in and steal her toothbrush. We can run a DNA analysis on that. If she’s the one, then we can figure out the best way to approach her. And if she’s not, we haven’t caused problems for anyone.”

Jason is skeptical. He stands there, arms crossed, glaring at Dick. “I don’t suppose you have a single-molecule analyzer in your pocket,” he mocks.

“Well, no,” Dick admits. “But we can take samples back to the Tower and examine them there. Then, if anyone is a match, we come back. ’Sides, people lie. DNA doesn’t.”

He’s gritting his teeth. He was ready to chew off Dick’s head until the jerk laid that last part on him. Fucking hell! It’ll take so much TIME! And he wants to find her NOW. 

Jason ruthlessly suppresses these thoughts. They have uncomfortable ramifications that he wasn’t ready to deal with; mainly because there is part of him that feels like a disloyal douche bag towards Catherine. Taking a slow, steady breath and promising himself that he won’t kill Dick until after they’ve found his mother, he forces himself to nod. 

This isn’t how he thought it would go down in his head. Though if he’s honest with himself, he really hadn’t thought it through.

He growls under his breath as he feels Dick place what’s probably supposed to be a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Little Wing. It won’t take that long.”

It doesn’t. Breaking into her room that is. It takes longer to get the staff to confirm that the woman is the room’s only occupant. Even so, Jason and Dick take not only the tooth brush, but also a dirty glass with a lip print on it and some hairs with follicular tags from her brush. All are carefully bagged and labelled.

“We can stay,” Dick offers as they make their way from the building. “There are some good sight lines from across the street.”

He gets that the guy is trying to be nice in offering to sit surveillance with him. There are even several reasons why it would be a good idea, not the least of which being to make sure they did get the right room. But really, it would just be so that Jason could get a glimpse of the woman who might be his mother. And that’s not a good enough reason. Not for this.

Still, there are better reasons.

The teen scowls. He doesn’t glance at Dick. This is his mission, not Goldie’s, so the decision is his. Besides, whatever mission Sharmin is on could be dangerous; maybe having someone watch her back would be a good thing. Okay, that sounds pathetically weak even in the privacy of his own head.

Fuck it.

“Yeah. But only until midnight. We have no idea if she’s going to come back here or bug out.” They know she’s not finished whatever it is, because of the clothes in her room, among other things. However, should things go bad, it’s all stuff she could leave behind.

Dick is nodding at him. And NOT being a damned bobble-head. Well, that’s an improvement.

They head for a vantage point atop a building across the street. It has a fair amount of cover screening it from the various windows in the area. They settle in. Three hours later, there is still no sign of Rosen, and Jason is beyond bored. Not to mention hungry. Dick has been reasonably quiet, which worries him. He’s just about to suggest that he go get them something to eat, when a commotion by the hotel entrance grabs his attention.

“I don’t fucking believe it!”

“Don’t believe what?” Dick asks, even as he grabs for the binoculars.

Jason swats him off, needing to take another look for himself. Yes, it is Shiva Woosan heading into the hotel! Well, that makes life easy! Or not, because in the next moment, a truck pulls up and four men with guns jump out, grabbing the woman and bodily hauling her into the vehicle. Crap!

He leaps up and is moving to the edge of the building even as the van pulls away. Shit! They are going to get away. He doesn’t have a bike he can grab here, and following on foot isn’t an option. This isn’t Gotham, he doesn’t know the terrain. Besides, the truck is already rounding a corner.

“Sonofabitch!” he explodes. When Dick tries to put his hands on Jason’s shoulders, the teen shrugs him off violently. “That was her! She’s one of the other possibilities!”

“Woah, Jay, slow down. I really need you to clue me in here.”

“Shiva Woosan. She’s on my list of possibles. I recognized her from Bruce’s files. And now, she’s been abducted!” With him just sitting there, doing nothing productive! He turns to go, but it’s an impotent gesture. The truck is long gone.

Dick catches his attention again by letting out a low whistle. “Lady Shiva? Really? I’ve seen the file on her and she’s not an easy person to grab. Even with four guys trying it.” When Jason glances at him, Dick looks positively thoughtful. “Actually, if the psych profile is right, she’d probably consider only four to be an insult.” 

Now Dick is frowning, and so is Jason as he processes not only Dick’s words, but also his own memories of the file, which aren’t much. This really isn’t adding up, and the longer he thinks about it, the father away the truck gets. What’s the next step? Obviously, they have to figure out who took her.

“Come on, let’s get changed and get some wheels,” Dick suggests, grinning exactly like an idiot hopped up on daytime cold meds. 

**********************************************

It takes a while. Okay, that’s an understatement. It takes fucking forever! And since they don’t have a lot of clues to work with, they have to jog some memories the hard way. The local lowlifes may speak a different language but they sing just as sweetly as the Gotham variety. Especially when he and Dick tag team them. Mostly, Jason is used to Bruce being the heavy. It’s actually amusing as hell that skells are trying to hide behind Dick to get away from HIM. Heh.

Night has fallen and they are both in costume. It’s a calculated risk. American vigilantes are bound to attract attention, but so would a pair of American tourists. At least this way, if someone comes gunning for them, they’ll be wearing some armour. Well, he will. He’s not entirely sure about Dick’s get up.

Yet, surprisingly, no one does come looking. He’s getting that itchy feeling between his shoulder blades again. It gets worse as they hunker down outside a militia encampment in the Bekaa valley. According to their source, it’s a group of radical Shiites. Very well-armed radicals, by the looks of the guards.

Jason is back to scowling. There are way too many guns for them to just waltz in and kick ass. Especially since they don’t know where in the encampment Shiva is being held.

“We need to get in there and recon,” the teen mutters. Then he blinks as, out the corner of his eye, he sees Dick beaming at him. “What?!” he hisses, glaring at his so-called partner.

“They grow up so fast...” the asshole croons. But before Jason can reply, Dick is all business and is eying the sentries. “That corner there. We can take one of ‘em out. And then, we can play dress up.” 

Jason’s own grin is more than a little feral. He likes this plan. Taking the guard down without an alarm being raised that will tricky, though. Of course, when the guy pulls his pants down to take a piss, Jason blesses his luck and takes advantage of the situation.

Getting a second guard for Dick is just as easy. Which strikes him as downright odd. While he likes easy, this is almost painfully so. That ‘not right’ feeling is back.

“Yeah,” the acrobat whispers. “I agree.”

It’s different, having someone know what he’s thinking without him saying it. Well, Gordon manages it, sometimes with scary accuracy. With Bruce on the other hand it’s only a sometimes thing. And not about stuff that really matters, like when Jason is telling him the truth; or how much it hurts to know that he’s not being believed.

Dick pulls him back to the present. “Come on. We need to take these guys out before they notice anything. Which means we need to be really sneaky. Think you can manage that?” Even with the cloth wrapped about his face and a mask over his eyes, Jason knows he’s being teased.

“Think you can manage not to sneeze?” He shoots back with a little grin of his own. 

“Oooooh, seeing as I’m a walking pharmacy at the moment, I think I’ll be fine.”

Jason rolls his eyes, and then they hit it. Or rather, they hit the other set of guards. And the mooks making dinner. And oblivious idiots playing cards. He’s finding that being sneaky is a lot harder then it usually is. Of course, he’s not usually sneaky, nor up against so many heavily armed religious fanatics. They seemed particularly stubborn about going down quietly, even when given a precision strike to the voice box. 

Still, between the two of them, they manage it. With their opposition ingloriously trussed up, they begin to systematically search the encampment. There is a locked wooden structure at one corner, which turns out to be the armoury. Jason whistles softly.

“Damn. This is going to make a really big boom when we blow it.”

“Have I told you that I love how your mind works, Little Wing?” The white-out lenses are down, but he just knows Dick’s eyes are dancing behind them.

“Heh.” Indulging his pyro tendencies will have to come later. They still have to find Shiva.

When they’ve been through the last tent without finding any sign of the woman, Jason can’t help but worry. “She’s not here. Do you think they killed her?” He hates himself a little as hears the desperation in his own voice. They’ve come so far! She can’t be dead!

“I doubt it,” Dick says as he’s looks around the tent. “But we can go wake up one of the idiots, if you want.”

Jason is just about to agree when the world goes black.

Before he even registers that he’s conscious again, he’s thinking, I should have heard something! Then he opens his eyes and what he’s sees isn’t pretty. At all. Dick is taking a beating. From the woman they came to save. Oh, he’s doing a real credible job to trying to hold her off, but Jason would bet that the woman could give Bruce a hard time.

So he really doesn’t know what he thinks he’s going to accomplish by jumping into the fray, since he can admit to not being as good as either man. Yet, he has to, because it’s his fault that Dick is here with him. He watches and yes, Dick has her attention, and she’s standing with her back to Jason. Fine. Don’t make a sound; don’t give her reason to look this way. He goes for the kidney shot, that turns out to be only a glancing blow, but yeah, that got her attention, though he hasn’t come anywhere close to debilitating her, not going by how she’s turning on him. But his attack opens her up to Dick, who is up and moving, doing something that Jason can’t see, and then the woman is stumbling, falling. Going down hard into Jason’s fist!

Shit! He hadn’t meant that to happen! He hadn’t actually wanted to hurt her, but she hadn’t been leaving him much choice. He’s pretty sure she busted a couple of his ribs.

“Is she okay?” he’s asking, as Dick begins to tie her up.

“Oh I’m FINE, Robin,” Dick says with a glare, but there’s no real heat to it. “I hit her with a tranq. She’ll feel it in the morning, but she’ll be training more terrorists soon enough.” When Jason blinks at him, he continues. “This is a terrorist training camp. And she’s the head instructor.”

So. It wasn’t a kidnapping, but a test. Jason snorts and crosses his arms. Charming. Just grand. If this is his mother... he suppresses a little shudder. 

Oh, right. He pulls a tissue and a small evidence bag from his belt. Carefully, he wipes at the woman’s bloody nose. None of the files he’d looked at in the Cave had any DNA records in them.

Shiva’s glare is impressive, as is the fact she’s quietly working the bonds, despite the drug in her system. Yeah. They really don’t want to be here when she gets free. 

“You could have just asked,” the woman tells him in a voice that is steel wrapped in silk.

Jason says nothing. Yeah, there is a LOT he wants to say. To ask. But he keeps Dick’s words in mind: people lie.

“Are we good to go?” Dick asks him. 

He can only nod, because now he’s not sure he wants to know. No, fuck it. He does. And knowing doesn’t mean that he has to like, approve of or live with the woman. It’s just that he needs to know. That’s why they are here.

They leave. Fully aware that she will be free in a matter of minutes, no matter how securely Dick bound her. The pair is back in their vehicle before Dick asks what is obviously weighing on his mind: “What if it is her?”

Jason says nothing, because he has no idea what to say.


	4. Part Three

It’s odd. Jason honestly never would have thought that finding a relief aid worker would be harder than finding a Mossad agent. For all that a few phone calls get him a friendly voice who tells him, in English, that Dr. Shelia Hayward is in Ethiopia, no one can give him anything more specific. Apparently, the workers move around as needed and the paperwork is constantly playing catch-up. 

Four days and five refugee camps later, Jason is hot, tired and more than a little frustrated. Okay, so that’s an understatement. 

And on top of that, the heat isn’t helping Dick’s cold. If anything, it’s making it worse. He has no idea how that one works. There have got to be some nasty side effects to everything he’s been taking, but the guy insists he’s fine, that he’s managed to push through worse.

They don’t talk. Well they do, but not about the subject they are both avoiding. What if Sheila is his mother? Dealing with her isn’t going to be like dealing with the others. She’s a civilian, so it’ll perfectly okay for Jason Todd to approach her. Maybe he’ll raise a few eyebrows, but being a white teenager in a refugee camp will do that all on its own.

Their land rover crawls into the camp outside of Magdala. It’s not the first such camp they’ve been inside, today, but as before, the devastation and sheer human suffering is profound. It makes him... it makes him feel like an ungrateful little wretch. He’s Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son, so legally he’s heir to the man’s billions. But that has never been important to him. What is, is that he has a sweet fucking life waiting for him back in Gotham. And a family, even if Bruce is a world-class jackass at times.

He frowns as Dick parks the vehicle.

“Hey, Little Wing.” Dick is right there, his hand on Jay’s shoulder. The concern is positively oozing off of him. 

Jason just looks around. “It’s not like Gotham. The problem isn’t something we can make bleed and take to jail.” His voice sounds just as dejected as he feels. Expect that it’s more than that. His emotions are a knot in the pit of his stomach and he can’t even begin to sort them out.

“No, it’s not,” Dick agrees a measure of sorrow in his own voice. “But like Gotham, you do what you can, when you can. When we’re finished, we can call Bruce and tell him that the Wayne foundation needs to cut a check.”

A frown crosses his face. “It won’t be enough, Dick. It won’t ever be enough.”

“I know.” No words of encouragement, no attempts to lighten the mood. He looks at Dick and sees him watching a too-thin child totter slowly towards a simple lean-to shelter and the woman inside it.

Jason takes a deep, steadying breath. Focus. He needs to focus.

They begin asking questions. In English. It takes some time to find someone who can understand them. Eventually their efforts are rewarded when a middle-aged Ethiopian man points them in the right direction. “You’ll find her in that tent. It’s her office.”

Finally! His thoughts are on the woman he’s about to meet, even as his feet run toward their destination. Distantly, he hears Dick wheezing a little as he moves to keep up. Jason doesn’t wait up. Nor can he stop himself from impatiently pushing back the tent flap and peering inside.

A blonde woman is standing over a table, looking at some papers. She turns to the entrance with a surprised expression. Jason can only stand there, taking in the color of her blue eyes, so like the ones he sees in the mirror.

“Can I help you?”

Some part of Jason is disappointed that there is no look of recognition on Sheila’s face, but realistically, there wouldn’t be. She must have given him up when he was very young, seeing as he has no memory of her. He smiles for both of them.

“Uh. Hi,” he says lamely. He’s just standing there, blocking the entrance. He doesn’t move until Dick nudges him in the fucking kidney. Then he steps in, his hands at his sides. “Um. I’m Jason. I think. You might be... my mother?”

Sheila is still blinking at him, but there is a thoughtful look in her eyes now. She’s considering it.

Dick presses forward and offers the doctor his hand. “Dr. Hayward, what my brother is—“

The woman’s eyes get wider, and somewhat suspicious. “What? Are you claiming to be my son, too?”

Dick holds up his hands before Jason can say anything. “No, no. We aren’t related by blood. We were both taken in by Bruce Wayne, back in Gotham City.” 

The suspicion is gone, replaced by something else as Jason moves closer. 

“I’m Dick Grayson. And this is Jason Todd.”

“Todd?” she repeats. Then her eyes widen, and Jason’s heart leaps. She raises a hand to her lips. “Oh my God,” comes the gasped realization.

The teen is standing before her. “Mother?” he whispers, before throwing his arms about her slim waist, pressing close, and holding tight. “Mother! Mother! Mother!” And he knows. He can feel it. He’s found her.

He barely hears as Dick excuses himself, saying something about finding out if anyone needs an extra pair of hands. For long moments he just clings to the woman that gave birth to him. Smiling, he pulls back and lets go. “I’m sorry, I just... I’ve been looking for you, and—”

She shushes him with a finger to his lips and a little smile. “It’s more than alright. But let’s sit.” Sheila waves him to the other folding chair at the table. “I want to know all about you and your life back in Gotham.”

They talk. Or, rather, Jason talks. He explains about how his father started going in and out of jail. Then how he died. Jason omits the fact that it was Two-Face that killed him, since there’s no way he’d know that as a civilian. He’s a bit more hesitant when telling of Catherine’s illness. It’s been four years since her passing and his having to fend for himself, but it still cuts deep. He talks of Bruce and how he’s kind of a dork, again giving an edited version.

Sheila listens, flashing him sympathetic looks as he talks. And she laughs a little at his description of Brucie’s behaviour. She asks about what school he goes to and if he’s happy at the manor. Jason tells her about the garage full of really sweet cars and how he can’t wait to turn sixteen and get his licence. He feels like an ass at how much he has to censor it all. She’s his mother, but he can’t tell her the most important part.

Finally, he has to ask the one question that’s been eating at him: Why did she give him up?

She smiles at him gently. “I was a struggling med student when I met and fell in love with your father,” Sheila recounts in a gentle voice. “Shortly after you were born, I got into trouble.” Jason watches as her expression turns pinched, pensive. This is clearly not a happy memory for her, but he doesn’t interrupt. “The incident put an end to my medical career back in the States.” There’s something more which she’s not telling. Did someone force her to quit? Blacklist her? What had happened he wasn’t to demand, but doesn’t. “Willis was supposed to join me, once I settled in England.”

Jason bites his lip slightly. He can’t say anything, not yet. He can tell that this is difficult for her, and the best thing he can do is let her get it all out in the open in her own time.

She turns to look at her hands as she continues. “But your father fell in love with Catherine Johnson before I could send for him.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, turning away from him. “Willis wrote to me about her, telling me that they had been married a few days earlier. I thought it best to let them raise you as their own.” Much as he wants to, Jason can’t see her expression. But the sorrow in her tone tells him everything he needs to know. “I had neither funds, nor any hope of winning custody of you in a legal battle.”

Standing, Jason moves closer and puts a hand on the woman’s—on his mother’s—shoulder. When she looks up at him, she wears a pleading expression that begs him for understanding.

“Besides, a custody fight would have been rough on you,” she says earnestly. “I finally accepted the fact that I would probably never see you again.”

Of course he understands. He’s seen the ugly outcome of such things, sometimes behind police tape, and that she thought of what was best for him... He wraps his arms about her shoulders from behind and hugs her tightly, his cheek pressed to her hair. “It must have been so hard for you,” he whispers. She sits there, accepting his affection, reciprocating by placing her hands on Jason’s forearms.

Her breathing hitches a little as she soldiers on bravely. “I managed... My work helped me get through....” She looks at the cheap little travel clock on the table and reluctantly moves to disengage Jason’s hold. “Speaking of work, you’re going to have to excuse me for a little while, Jason,” she says ruefully, getting up from her chair.

Jason is taken aback. “Huh?” He’s finally found her, and now she has to cut their reunion short?!

“It’s camp business I can’t get out of, Jason,” she explains gently, putting a hand on his back and lightly ushering him to the tent flap. “Wait outside. Maybe you can help with the food dispersal. I’ll be done in an hour or so.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep himself from hugging her again. “Okay.” Of course she can’t get out of it. There aren’t enough aid workers as is, an all-too-common problem. And her work here is very important. He shouldn’t be selfish.

Heading out, he spots a familiar blue-black shock of hair at a tent with open sides—some sort of a rudimentary kitchen, from the look of it. And yes, that was a sniffle. Jason sure hopes someone gave Dick a mask to wear before they let him help with the food. When Jason gets close enough he asks, “Need a hand?”

Dick turns to him and yes, he’s wearing one of those dinky little paper things. “Mmm, probably. Go ask Negasi over there.” He gestures to a dark-skinned man in a dirty blue shirt. Jason doesn’t see Dick’s concerned look.

He presents himself to Negasi, who is glad of the extra help, and is quickly set to work dishing out the depressingly-small portions of rice. The children taking the bowls break his heart.

As he works, his mind wanders freely, and it takes idle notice of the vehicle that pulls up outside of his mom’s tent. He watches, wondering if this is the business Sheila mentioned and with whom it’s being conducted. His storm-blue eyes widen as he sees who steps out.

Holy shit!

Granted, he’s put on flesh-coloured make up, and he’s sporting a safari helmet, but there is no mistaking who it is. The Joker is heading to his mom’s tent, followed by two large, muscle-bound goons.

Jason abandons his position, ignoring the angry yells that greet his departure. He’s focused on his goal: the back of his mother’s tent. He needs to listen in. Not even the Joker is stupid enough to try something in the middle of a refugee camp. He hopes.

Skulking around the back of the tent he settles in for some eavesdropping, something that is ridiculously easy through the thin canvas. He doesn’t jump out of his skin when Dick comes up behind him, even though he hadn’t heard the asshole moving. The guy’s almost as bad as Bruce. Which shouldn’t exactly surprise him.

“What are we doing back here?” Dick asks in a hoarse whisper. Jason says a quick prayer to any power listening that Dick won’t start hacking up a lung.

“Joker is in there, with... Mom.” Saying it aloud makes it all so much more real, and he’s not sure he can stay here, only listening. His mom is in danger as long as Joker is here.

“Him?!” The acrobat is whispering, but it’s still hideously loud. “Here?!”

Jason slaps a hand over the idiot’s mouth and glares at him. Thankfully, Dick actually grabs a clue and shuts up, but the hand stays where it is. Just in case. Turning his attention back to the voices in the tent, he listens intently.

“—hands on the six truckloads of medical supplies. How you arrange it is your problem, Sweetie.” That’s the Joker’s nasal, slightly manic voice. It raises every hair on the back of Jason’s neck. “But remember, if you screw this up, your superiors will learn of the medical trouble that drove you to this rat-hole. The Gotham City police are still rather interested in who performed the sloppy operation on that poor, dead teenager.” The canvas does nothing to distort the sickeningly-coy tone. 

Joker is blackmailing his mom into helping him! Jason’s not going to bolt in there and kick ass, even though he really, really wants to. That would be stupid. Almost as stupid as Dick licking his hand to remind him it’s still covering the guy’s mouth. It would be gross... if he weren’t trying to hear more of the exchange. He drops the hand, and Dick carefully moves closer.

“You’ve got a good thing going for you here as chief distributor of medical supplies for the area. Don’t mess it up.” It’s not a suggestion, or even a threat. It’s an order, and Joker expects it to be followed. Jason is going to seriously enjoy smashing the bastard’s face in.

There are sounds of movement from within the tent. 

“Shall we go to the warehouse, then?” The Joker speaks again. It’s not a question and he sounds so damned pleased with himself. “My drivers are awaiting our arrival.”

He sits back on his heels, but only a moment, then he’s moving to the flap. He’s just in time to see the bastard, his two muscle-bound thugs, and Sheila get in the waiting jeep. Shit.

Dick has a hand on his shoulder and is pointing at a guy who is just getting off his dirt bike. Yeah, that will do. Jason goes up and grabs the bike. The guy starts yelling, but Jason’s already on it, and Dick’s hopping up behind him.

They take off after the jeep. Jason is thankful that the Joker isn’t driving particularly fast; otherwise, their borrowed, gutless bike would have been left behind. 

Though the depot isn’t far, it takes an impossibly long time. Longer because they are following the road from the cliff above, it and the track isn’t all that straight. His heart pounds every time their path veers away from the road and he wonders if this time they’ve lost them.

Finally, he stops the bike. Both he and Dick get off. Here, the cliff has petered to almost nothing, with only a few boulders to provide cover. It’s really not great for them, but it will have to do.

“Let’s get those doors open, Sheila, honey.” The Joker’s gleeful voice carries easily. “My boys are anxious to earn their share of this ill-gotten booty.”

Jason watches with a sinking feeling, as his mother unlocks the doors and pushes them wide.

The six trucks are already at the loading dock and the Joker’s men are taking boxes from off of them. Sheila asks the question that has been bugging Jason, though he has to read her lips to make out the words.

“Why are those men unloading boxes into the warehouse?”

“To replace the ones we’re going to steal.” The clown sounds downright happy, which is damned scary given the sorts of things that the Joker enjoys.

“Are they empty?” Sheila presses. It’s another good question. Jason is biting his lip even as he frowns. His mom is being forced to help the Joker, but she has good instincts. Maybe he can find out what they’re up against. The idea of that psycho just stealing medical supplies is too tame; there has to be more to it than that.

“No, they contain a mixture of my lethal laughing gas,” the man crows. “Just imagine the surprise when one of your bleeding-heart social workers opens any of these cartons! Each box contains enough gas to cover a four-acre stretch!” The fucker is smirking, pleased with himself! 

Dick sucks in a breath beside him. “Oh crap.” And yes, the man has a gift for understatement.

“Don’t look so down, Sheila” the clown teases. “I’m doing you a favour! Think of it as a way of cutting down the number of mouths you have to feed.” Then he’s laughing. “The Joker always likes to leave his mark wherever he goes!”

Sheila turns away in disgust. Whatever she says next is obscured by the hand covering her mouth.

A hand is on Jason’s shoulder. Dick points to a little area to their left. It’s possible that they can get closer, maybe figure out which boxes contain the Smilex. Nodding, Jason moves, following Dick’s lead. Even so, he can’t help but throw another glance toward his mom. 

Come on, head in the game. With a critical eye on their surroundings, Jason taps Dick’s shoulder and indicates that they should split up. It’s the best way to take advantage of the sparse cover and make sure Joker doesn’t slip away.

By the time they get down to the warehouse, the six trucks are packing up in preparation for leaving. But not, Jason notes, with the Joker or Sheila on board. They’ve moved into the building. He should go in after them, find his mom, and punch the shit out of Joker.

“Jason, give me a hand here,” the sound of Dick’s voice whispering over the comm-link in his ear startles him. ‘Here’ is inside the main structure. 

Scowling, he heads into the building. Has Dick found the psycho? No, he wouldn’t be sounding this calm if he had. So what is....?

Dick is standing there in the shadows, looking at the boxes. The ones with the Smilex are easy enough to spot, because they have small stylized joker faces in one corner. “He’s not in here,” he whispers in answer to Jason’s unasked question. “The clown has the boxes rigged to release the gas when they’re opened. So,” he grins at Jason, “we just make sure they can’t be opened.”

Jason huffs. He has no idea what Dick has in mind to accomplish the task. And the longer he stands here, the more time the Joker will have to do something to Sheila.

The hell?! Dick looks like he’s groping himself. Oh. No. He’s got his uniform on under his civvies. When he brings out his hand, he’s holding a dozen little spheres, which he presses into Jason’s hand.

“Hang onto these.” He’s reaching in somewhere to grab more. Where the hell does he store stuff in that suit of his? Dick pulls out another handful of the little things. Taking one, he holds it up. “These babies are awesome. They burst when they land and they cover a lot of area.”

Dick demonstrates by tossing one of the things on top of a pile of Jokerized boxes. A thick, goopey fuchsia substance oozes over it and Jason manages to suppress a little shudder. The stuff seems to be expanding like shaving cream but the consistency is wrong. Even from here it looks like it’s a solid, rubbery mass—one that he really doesn’t want to get any closer to.

“Cyborg said they’d be completely solidified four minutes after breaking,” Dick states as he tosses two more.

“Great,” Jason growls, handing back to the handful to Dick. “You have this covered.” He ignores the groan at his unintentional pun. “I’m going to scout a bit, make sure Joker hasn’t gone back for his truck, or some shit like that.”

Dick nods as he tosses another couple of the spheres. “Just recon, ’kay? You find him, you call me, and then we tag team him.” And that is as close to an order as Dick has come this entire trip. So Jason doesn’t roll his eyes behind the mask. Not quite. Like he’s stupid enough to tackle the Joker on his own...

Heading out into the meagre shadows of the loading dock, he can see nothing by Joker’s truck. He moves around back, and he pulls up short. There is one door back there. And it’s opening. Sheila steps out, a cigarette in her mouth, and a little metal lighter in her hand.

“Mom,” Jason says, heading over to her, worried. He doesn’t see any injuries on her. That’s something, at least.

“Jason?!” She turns to him, surprise evident on her pretty features. Everything about her seems tense... terrified? That would only make sense.

“You’ve got big trouble, Mom,” he hisses urgently. “I know all about it. The Joker...everything.” And he can help. Will help. It’s what he does.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies defensively. Of course she’s defensive, considering what involvement with Joker means, never mind that he’s blackmailing her.

They don’t have time for this. They really don’t. Hell, he’s not even sure if Joker is still here. He should be, but there is no way to know for sure.

“Come on, Mom, play straight! I can help!” He wants to shout at her, to convince her, but that would be a bad idea. 

“Sure, tell me about it,” is the defeated reply, as she turns her back on him. She’s not buying it. Any of it. He’ll have to show her.

Jason begins to undo his shirt. “Mother, there is a lot about me that you don’t know.” He pulls it open, showing off the red tunic and the R badge. That gets her attention.

“Huh? That outfit,” she whispers, her eyes widening. “You’re.....” As the revelation penetrates, the woman pulls herself together and seems to come to a decision, while Jason strips off the rest of his civvies and puts on his mask. “Come with me.”

She opens the door leading back into the building before Jason can stop her. “Wait!” he hisses. It’s dark in there—the star-lite lenses are going to need a moment to adjust. “The Joker...” 

“...Is long gone,” Sheila informs him, as she walks into the gloom of the back room. She guides him past more boxes. “There’s nothing to worry about. But I’ve got something you should see.”

Nothing to... what? On the other side of the wall are all those booby-trapped crates! How could that be ‘nothing to worry about’?! “What?” He can’t keep the surprise from his voice as he follows her. “What’s going on here?”

“Just step over here,” she coaxes, waving a hand to indicate a space between the stacks of boxes. “You’ll understand everything.”

Frowning, he moves through the space, only to pull up short. There is the Joker, holding a gun, and grinning like the madman he is. Behind him are two of the goons from before. “What?” His eyes widen behind the white-out lenses. “But you said...” The words are a choked whisper, as comprehension dawns.

“I lied,” come the steely words from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees his... he sees Sheila holding a pistol of her own, and pointing it right at him. “You see, I can’t afford to have you stirring up trouble. I’ve been dipping into the medical funds myself.” As she talks she’s backing him up. The back of his neck itches, and he knows he’s being boxed in. “If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the ensuing investigation would certainly uncover my embezzling.”

The Joker is behind her now, cackling, amused by the show before him. 

“Sorry about that, kid,” she continues, the gun steady and unwavering in her hand. “Looks like you chose the wrong person to trust, this time.” Over her shoulder, she asks the Joker, “What should we do with him?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do for years...” the Joker croons sickeningly. The next instant, he’s delivering a back-handed pistol whip to Jason’s jaw. A kick to his stomach, and he can’t breathe. Hands on him, putrid breath. The Joker’s hauling him up by the front of his tunic, hoisting him off the ground. “Come now, birdboy! You’re not going to sleep on me already, are you? The party is just getting started!”

Gasp, think. Move! Jason gets his feet under him and throws a fist at the Joker’s midsection, putting everything he has behind it, as his lip curls in a snarl. “Then let’s dance, asshole!”

He’s in close quarters, facing multiple opponents, and at least two guns. He’s faced worse, but he’s not thinking about that right then. All that matters is where to find the next guy, and landing the next punch. Like that kick to the Joker’s jaw. Someone behind him, big. Jason moves, but not fast enough. Hand on his shoulder, spinning him. Then a fist impacts with his nose. He goes down, seeing stars.

As he lays on his side the kicks start and he tries to roll away. Move, goddamn it! Don’t just lay there, don’t be a fucking target! But the bastard is following him. He’s sure he has at least a few broken ribs, and the shots to his stomach aren’t helping his breathing at all, either.

Then it stops. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Sheila turning away as she lights up her cigarette.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do to Uncle Joker.” The clown is coming toward him with something in his hand. “You’ve been a bad boy. You must be punished!” A cackle seems to slice through him, as the bastard lifts the crowbar. “Prepare yourself for a severe spanking, young man.”

Two things happen at once. Jason’s booted foot shoots out, slamming into the Joker’s knee, and something that looks suspiciously like a one of Dick’s stylized wing-dings slices into the hand holding the very solid weapon. 

The Joker is howling, and the crowbar crashes to the ground dangerously close to Jason’s hip. Right, time to move. Nightwing is there, putting the hurt on one of Joker’s henchmen, but there’s another one closing. Jason isn’t up for a fight and he knows it, but his fists aren’t his only weapon. He turns and leans into the boxes, pushing the corner one out, and causing the rest to cascade down on the man.

Part of him wonders when Dick ditched his civvies and put the mask on. The rest of him doesn’t care. All that matters is that there are now two goons down and Nightwing is advancing on Joker, who is trying to crawl away. That’s fine by Jason, he’s got other concerns. Like the woman who is fleeing the scene, heading for the door.

If he lets it become a foot race, Jason knows he’s screwed. He’s not going to be moving quickly any time soon. But that’s the really cool thing about being Robin. He’s got toys. Getting out the door, he sees her at the corner of the building. His hand reaches into his belt and pulls out a bolo. Swinging it about easily, he lets fly, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as it tangles about her knees, and she goes down.

He doesn’t wince when she falls, her knees slamming into the unforgiving stone. Jason can admit that he is upset, to say the very least. But now isn’t the time for whining about his goddamn feelings! 

Making his way over as quickly as his ribs will allow, he watches her futilely trying to untangle the thin cables about her legs. When he’s draws closer, the pretty blonde turns a panicked look up at him. 

“Jason! You don’t understand!”

No, he really doesn’t. He’s never understood what drives someone to do the kinds of things he’s seen. There might be degrees of depravity between releasing Smilex and stealing from relief funds, but it still amounts to the same thing: she’s a criminal who victimizes the helpless. She is the lowest of the low. And he’s working real hard to not think what that means for him.

He pulls out a zip-strip and silently gets to work binding her wrists, being careful not to cut off the circulation. Only then does he remove the bolo. Jason tries to smoother a pained grunt as he pulls the woman to her feet and begins marching her back to where he’d left Dick.

The entire duration of the short journey the... the bitch... is trying to play the mother card on him. Trying to sweet-talk him. Trying to convince him it was a mistake, that the money she’d taken was being sent back to the States to help an underground abuse survivor network. Seriously?! After her previous admission, she actually expected him to swallow that load of bullshit?!

He pushes her into the back room. Nightwing is standing over the trussed up Joker and his two henchmen, obviously waiting for Jason’s return. The older vigilante looks at him. “Everything cool, Robin?”

“No,” Jason says with a frown.

It’s then that Sheila decides to try another tactic to gain her freedom. The innocent expression she’s been trying to snow him with is gone without a trace. Instead, she looks exactly as calculating and angry as she is. “I know who you are, Robin! If I’m put in jail, how long do you think it will be before that little piece of information becomes common knowledge?” 

Jason frowns. Yeah. That. Man, has he ever screwed the pooch this time. 

But Dick is there, before her, his body obscuring whatever he’s got in his hand. There is a flash of light, and she goes quiet, staring at what he’s holding in front of her face. Jason blinks. Nightwing has turned to him and, though he can’t actually see it through the mask’s white lenses, he has the distinct impression that Dick is winking at him. Huh.

“Another of Cyborg’s toys?”

“Something like that,” is Nightwing’s cryptic response. The hell? That’s not like Dick. Though it could be that mentioning the source, given the ears that might overhear, would be problematic. “It’ll scramble her short-term memory, going back a day at most, but that’s all we need.”

Jason nods, feeling a desire to move around and do something. Right, there is something he can do. “You have fun with that,” he says. “I’m calling this in.” Assuming he can find something to do that with.

***

He does. And after far too long, he finally convinces someone at the local UN garrison that he’s legit and that yes there is a bio-hazard at the medical supply depot as well as a bunch of terrorists to take into custody.

Jason and Dick are up on the roof when the peacekeepers and HazMat crew arrive to take care of business. Watching them cart off the goop-encrusted boxes, as well Joker and company, feels very... nothing. Not like an accomplishment, though it is. Not like a happy ending, though it’s that too. He just feels tired. And drained in every way imaginable.

“I screwed up,” Jason says glumly, looking off in the distance without really seeing anything at all.

“Yup.” That single word sounds inappropriately cheerful, and he has to look at Dick. They both are still in costume, masks on, so he can’t see the man’s eyes, but the face is... What? Unconcerned?

Jason scowls.

“Little Wing, we ALL screw up. It’s part of life, more so for those of us in tights. But the reason you screwed up is because you believed in someone, thinking her to be a good person. That’s not a bad thing, and if this turns you into a paranoid sour puss like Batman, I’m totally going to noogie you into submission!”

Dick is both perfectly serious, and grinning like a maniac. Jason can only blink, unsure what to make of that. So he ignores it. “She played me,” he continues unhappily.

“Yeah, she did.” 

Okay, Dick agreeing with him is really starting to suck ass. But there is something about that which... He glances over at Dick, once more, seriously looks at him.

“You knew.” This time he only gets a mute nod in reply. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would you have listened?” It’s a serious question, and if he’s honest, he’d have to say, ‘no’. Not when faced with the prospect of having found his mother. “I saw the way she was cold reading you in the tent.”

“Cold reading?” Jason frowns and gestures for him to continue.

“It’s a carnie trick used by fake psychics. You watch the person’s facial expression and body language as you throw things out and see what sticks. Then you build on it. That she knew your father made her job that much easier. Hell, she could have been giving you partial truths about what happened.”

Scowling, Jason nods. This really isn’t doing anything to make him feel better. A gloved hand descends on his shoulder.

“There’s just one question left from all this,” Dick declares, smiling gently at him. The obvious question must have been written all over his face because he continues. “Are you coming with me to the ’Tower? We still have samples to run.”

Jason nods slowly and climbs to his feet. Yeah, there is that.

“Great! Maybe you can get Danny off my case!”

Uh. For some reason, the second Robin is getting a very bad feeling.


	5. Epilogue

Bruce looks at the paper laying innocuously on his desk as if it’s a viper about to strike. Correction, it has struck. He’s already read it. Twice. But who it’s from and what it’s about is not computing.

After foiling the Joker’s plans in Lebanon, he’d returned to Gotham to try and pick up the madman’s trail again. No sooner had he stepped foot out of the Cave, than Alfred had pounced, informing him that Jason had run away. The only thing that had stopped him from turning around and going after his missing partner and son had been the knowledge that Dick was with him.

Alfred had pointed out that seeing as Bruce himself had been the major factor behind Jason’s departure, giving him some space was probably in order. Especially since he had a chaperon on his journey.

The billionaire hadn’t liked it then, and he still doesn’t, but he’d deferred to his old friend’s wisdom. Instead, he’d concentrated on trying to track down the Joker, who’d been keeping a frustratingly low profile. The next time he’d heard anything had been when the computer had picked up some police radio talk. The Joker and a woman were being extradited from Ethiopia to Gotham, and a police escort would be meeting the plane. As would Batman, not that anyone would be the wiser. He’d just had to make sure that the maniac was properly locked away and tried not to think on what would happen the next time he escaped.

A couple of the officers had mentioned that some American capes had been involved with the capture of Joker and his accomplices. Unfortunately, no one had seemed to have any more details then that. When he’d returned to the manor, Bruce had called Titan’s Tower.

There’d been conversation with that Chase boy, and then Dick had answered. There hadn’t been much said, by either of them. Yes, he and Jason had caught the Joker. Yes, they were both fine. No, Jason wasn’t coming home just yet. When he’d pressed, there’d been the muffled sound of arguing voices on the other end. After several loud moments Jason’s voice had come over the receiver. “Bye,” was all the boy had given him before hanging up.

Again Alfred interceded when Bruce would have headed up to New York, reasoning that Jason knew the way home and that he would return when ready. That for now it was best to leave him in Dick’s care, that the first Robin was a sensible young man and would see to the boy’s wellbeing.

The sound advice hadn’t sit any better this time than it had before, but he’d refrained from acting on impulse, and instead had some dinner before heading to the city for his nightly patrol. The next morning, the box and letter had been left outside the Manor door. Alfred had delivered both to him as he’d been eating his breakfast. He’d recognized Dick’s handwriting immediately on the envelope and taken both items to the Study.

 

Bruce,

I thought this might work better than a phone call, which Jason could interrupt. You and I have our differences, but I’m not enough of a jerk to leave you in the dark about this one. 

Did Alfred tell you much about what Jason and I were doing? Honestly, he didn’t know much, so maybe I’ll just start at the beginning. First of all, you really need to work on your communication skills. I know that doesn’t come as anything like a surprise, but it’s true nonetheless. Jason was seriously pissed at you, and I don’t think it’s exaggerating to say that you’ve probably managed to push away another Robin, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

Jason found his birth certificate. It was badly water-damaged, but he could make out that his mother’s name started with an S, which meant Catherine wasn’t his real mother. So, using the skills you gave him, he decided to go looking for his birth mother. I caught up with him at the airport, and we headed to the Middle East to track down the three names he’d found. This proved, well, ‘eventful’ is a good word. Once we handled Joker and got the last DNA sample, Jason came with me to run the tests at the Tower. No, none of the ladies were a match. I think he’s mostly relieved by that actually.

And no, this does not mean you should start looking. It’s up to Jason, not you. For now, he’s decided to drop it and instead sort out his own head. It’s a seriously mature decision, Bruce, and you would be proud of the way he’s been dealing with things, if you could ever just pay some attention to what’s in front of your nose.

He and I got to talking after your phone call, last night. He’s not ready to return to Gotham. Or maybe it’s you. I’m honestly not sure which. I told him, he’s welcome to stay here. You know that I’ll take good care of him, and that the rest of the Titans will keep an eye on him as well. I’ll make sure he gets enrolled in a good school up here, when the new semester starts.

You two do need to talk, but not right now. Not yet. Let him make the first move, Bruce. When he’s ready, he’ll call. 

Take care.

Dick

 

Absently, the man reaches over to the box and touches the red tunic it contains. He stares at the letter, as his finger tips trace the familiar R emblem.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a retelling of the events of A Death In the Family with a few minor (and maybe not so minor) tweaks that change the course of things drastically. I always loathed ADitF not because Jason died (though that did make me sad) but because characterization and behaviour was so badly handled. It took Batdickery to a whole new level. So this story is how I think it would have been done and yes, Jason gets to live.


End file.
